


Safety Inspection

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Hot Nonsense, M/M, Misunderstandings, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Mad Burnish has been active for thirty years.The non-Galo members of Burning Rescue have a few follow-up questions for Lio Fotia.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 22
Kudos: 604





	Safety Inspection

Galo is totally, utterly unselfconscious about touch.

It's a wonder and a gift, for Lio. Galo will throw an arm over his shoulders as they walk down the hall, will comb his fingers through Lio's hair as he passes Lio's chair. They'll both be waiting for the microwave to finish, and Gallo will tug Lio into his side, or they'll be sitting on the couch and Galo will flop sideways to shove his head under Lio's hand, nuzzling until Lio combs his fingers through Galo's ridiculous upswept hair. And, all the time, utterly gentle, Galo will kiss him.

Lio had vaguely imagined, once, that love would mean every kiss felt like the first time. On balance, he's glad that's not the case, since he would be extremely dead by now. Instead, it's simply warm and fond and safe. Not a revelation, just a reminder, steady, of what he already knows.

Somehow, Lio manages to think about this fairly constantly, a steady thread at the back of his mind, without ever actually thinking it _through._ It's possible Galo is, in this one area, not the best influence.

The possible issue makes itself known in the Burning Rescue firehouse, after the first wild whirl of rearranging the world has begun to settle and the whole of Burning Rescue is occasionally in the place at once. Lio has been hesitantly, teeth clenched, handing some of the initial Burnish-resettlement issues off to some of his own people, to once-lawyers who burst into flame in the courtroom and former city administrators who found the fire at their fingertips as they shoved another form over another desk.

Lio isn't putting this work down, not now and not ever. But he is, right now, the Burnish's general, and what this is, right now, is no longer a war. He won't crowd his way into a job better done by someone who doesn't need to look up what a notary is every single time. Thus, right now, he's spending a lot of time at the firehouse – which is becoming more than a firehouse – finding which of his people need to do what job. This skill translates still – what people do, what people need. Also, he's discovered spreadsheets, and he's furious that these have been kept from him.

“Hey, babe,” Galo says, coming up to nuzzle his face into the top of Lio's head. Lio hums softly, reaching up to twine his fingers into Galo's hair and give him a light, possessive tug. Galo, easily compliant at least when you're telling him to do something he'd do anyway, leans in to give Lio a quick kiss, upside-down and sweet.

“Galo,” Ignis says. “Go get some more root beer out of the basement, we're almost out.” Lio doesn't, initially, see anything odd about this.

“I'm on it!” Galo declares, posing, and then drops one last kiss to the top of Lio's head before he bounds off. Galo really does leap in every direction like a merry bonfire, unfocused and warm.

There's a faint scraping of chairs, a faint shuffling of feet. The back of Lio's neck tingles, every fine hair standing up. He looks up, and Burning Rescue is slowly forming in a loose semicircle around him, eyes intent on his face. His stomach tightens. Lucia is holding a wrench the size of her arm. Even the mouse on her shoulder is glowering.

“So, Lio Fotia,” Aina says, her hands on her hips. “How long have you been leading Mad Burnish exactly?”

“...Do I need to find a lawyer before I answer that question?” Lio asks, looking from face to face to unimpressed face. He hasn't seen the group look quite this cold since – well, given that before everything they only saw each other in armor, never.

“That depends,” Ignis says, adjusting his sunglasses. “But we're not planning to call in the law.” Remi is holding a book very threateningly indeed, which is just – being threatened with _paper._ Talk about a new depth in Lio's life.

“So, how long has it been?” Varys asks, looming in between Lio and the light. Lio misses his goddamn sword, frankly – and then, looking from face to grim face, he gets it.

“Which of you lost someone?” he asks. He left escape routes, he avoided houses, but it was never an exact science, and the group wasn't always as diligent in the past. And why couldn't they bring this up _before now_ – well, maybe he ought to be grateful for their restraint, but –

Lucia mutters something obscene under her breath; the firefighters exchange weary looks out of the corners of their eyes. Aina's hands twitch ominously.

“How _old_ are you?” she demands. Lio blinks three times in quick succession, on the verge of psychosomatic whiplash.

“It's June?” he asks. “Then...” He counts quickly, mouthing the numbers. “Still nineteen.”

Remi drops his book.

Lucia collapses backwards into a chair, cackling incomprehensibly. Her feet drum against the ground. “Holy shit,” she chokes out. “Galo's the cradlerobber!”

“He's twenty-two,” Ignis says, leaning back against the wall. The light no longer catches on his sunglasses, and Varys seems to have sunk three inches. “That's not robbing the cradle, that's robbing the next cot over.”

“I... hold on.” Lio's head hurts. “Will someone tell me what's happening here?”

“We all thought you were like fifty,” Lucia explains. She's still kind of waving the wrench around.

“ _What?_ ” Lio gestures furiously at the air for a few seconds and then ends up stabbing a finger at his own hair, its extremely-not-gray fall around his face. “Did I burn down a drug lab and you all breathed the smoke?”

Aina's giggling by this point, one hand pressed over her mouth. “Who's been wearing your armor for the last thirty years, then?” she wants to know, doubling over.

“It was my mother's armor first,” Lio says, because here at least is a question he can _answer._ “Well, her design, I made my own.”

“Well, guess we can stand down,” Varys says, and flops back onto the nearest couch. “Glad we all got worked up over that.”

“Uh,” Galo says from the doorway, burdened with three cases of root beer. “Hi guys?”

“Your friends are _lunatics,_ ” Lio says, and scrapes his chair away from all of them. Aina, still laughing, stumbles forward to brace her elbows on the table, shoving herself into his field of vision.

“C'mon,” she says. “Can you blame us?”

“For thinking I'm –”

“For wanting to be careful,” she interrupts. And... all right, okay, Galo still goes still and quiet whenever anyone mentions Kray Foresight's name, a dimming in his face that makes Lio wish Kray hadn't lived. It hasn't cooled that heart of his at all, not that Lio can tell, but that's because in his way Galo is one of the strongest people Lio has ever known. Lio wouldn't take any chances with him either.

It must show on his face, because Aina nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I'm still going to kill you if you hurt him, but like, you knew that.”

“ _Guys,_ ” Galo says helplessly. “Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?”

The room, even Lio, dissolves into laughter.


End file.
